


Hell for the Holidays

by webcricket



Series: 24 Days of Christmas Advent Drabbles [10]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 14:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Prompt Get Your Coda On - My reader insert coda for what happened to Cas and Lucifer after their imprisonment in SPN season 13 episode War of the Worlds. Warning - Adult/NSFW/18+ readers only! You and Cas find a delightful way to torture the devil and pass the time in Hell. Fluff and smut!





	Hell for the Holidays

“Cas?”

The angel disregards your soft utterance of his name. He stands at the bars of your shared cell, craning his neck to peer down the hallway, both of you prisoners of Asmodeus. He’s been at it for hours today and you don’t know what he expects to find. The cell door is warded. The hall is abandoned save for an uncharacteristically silent Lucifer sulking in the iron-barred chamber opposite. A demon lackey already delivered a pitcher of questionably murky water and a loaf of stale bread for you to ingest this morning. At least you think it was morning. There’s no way to know for sure in this pit. But nothing has changed in days. And you know nothing is going to change until Asmodeus needs to leverage one or both of you as bait to lure in Jack or thwart your brothers. Heck, you could be celebrating Christmas and New Year’s in this hole for all you know.

“Castiel?” you whisper again. Moving to his side, you trail your fingertips down his arm to twine your fingers into his limp grasp, wrapping his hand between both of yours and giving him a gentle squeeze. “Hey, come sit with me.”

Jaw flexing, he avoids looking at you. He hasn’t talked about it, but you know he blames himself for what happened, for you being stuck here.

“Come on,” you insist, tugging him as you step backward.

He acquiesces to your persistence, settling into a despondent crumpled trench coated heap beside you.

Your fingers play with the curls of hair at his temple. “You know this isn’t your fault,” you murmur.

“Isn’t it?” His eyes flash to search your aspect.

“No.”

“Dean was right,” he sighs, “I should have listened to him. Should have let him come with me to meet Duma.”

“Maybe, or maybe it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Maybe it would be you and Dean locked up in here instead of us.”

“I shouldn’t have called you.” His apologetic regard flits to the soot covered floor.

You move your palm to massage the muscles of his neck, perpetually knotted with the self-sacrificing burden of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for so long. “You should always call me,” you reassure, “and I will always come when you call. We’re partners, got it? No matter what. Or who.” You arch a brow in Lucifer’s direction.

“But-”

“No _buts_! What happened, happened. And you know, it could be worse.”

“I don’t see how. Asmodeus has tricked Sam and Dean into believing we’re following a lead. I overheard him on the phone with your brothers earlier. They’re not looking for us.”

You give his hand a squeeze, drawing the clasped fist to your lips and pressing a warm kiss to his knuckles, physically reminding him that at least for the moment you’re together, and alive. And that’s something. You’re sick and tired of always wondering where the angel is – if he’s okay, and despite the dire situation, you’re thankful to be trapped here with him. “I love you, angel.”

He meets your adoring gaze and a small fond smile traces his mouth. Focus wholly on you, distracted by the knack you have for finding the bright side of any situation, of reminding him of what is truly important, all he has to be grateful for, he forgets the bars holding you captive.

“I mean it.” You reflect his smile.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He places a lingering kiss upon your lips.

“Oh, for the love of dad, can you two love-struck idiots keep the PDA to a minimum? Some of us prefer to do our suffering in peace.” Lucifer rolls his eyes, grimacing at you from his vantage across the hall.

“You realize that’s kind of an oxymoron, right?” You reluctantly remove your lips from your angel’s to hiss back. Cause if you’re being totally honest with yourself, you absolutely do blame someone for what happened, and that someone’s name is Lucifer. Asmodeus wasn’t looking for you and Cas – the prince of Hell showed up at the bar looking for his long lost creator. You were a collateral bonus.

Cas casts his brother a chiding glare for interrupting your kiss.

Lucifer mockingly wags his chin, crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, “You’ve _literally_ found a way to make Hell even more tormenting. You make the cage look like Club Med.”

“That so?” You narrow your gaze.

“Yup,” he clicks his teeth, forehead crinkling for emphasis. “So, stop it,” he orders as if he has even a sliver of power or authority over you and Cas.

He’s so smug and conceited in his demand, you’re inspired with an idea for sweet satisfying revenge. You wink, purring, “Stop it, or what?” Smirking, you swing a leg over Cas’ thighs and shift into his lap and face him.

The angel fidgets beneath your weight and tilts his surprised countenance askance as he peers up at you. For an entity who allegedly doesn’t sweat, Cas’ forehead shines now with perspiration in the dim light. It’s sultry as Hell in here, and the oppressive warmth has a lot less to do with the whole fire and brimstone bit and the fact you’re in Hell than it did five minutes ago.

Maybe your better judgement is muddled by the heat; or maybe you and your angel both simply need to blow off a little steam, Lucifer be damned. You begin to loosen the knot of his tie.

Blue gaze widening as he realizes what you’re up to, Cas’ broad hands reflexively slide to your waist. “What are you doing?” he asks in a gravelly hush.

“Oh, you know.” Your hands smooth over his torso as you lean in to kiss the line of his scruffy jaw, peppering an affectionate open-mouthed trail to whisper in his ear, “Torturing the devil. You game?” You grind hard against him.

“You’re not actually going to-” Lucifer gapes, rushing the cell door to test the bars and search the hall for help – it’s as empty as any threat he could make against you right now.

Cas’ head slumps heavy to the wall, thick lashes shuttering as he stifles a groan and tries to maintain control of his vessel’s arousal. “What about Lucifer-” he tries to reason with you through gritted teeth.

You can tell from the bulging twitch in his trousers he’s not truly protesting or turned off by having a devilish audience. “What about him?” you simper, rolling your hips again.

Blue irises blown black with lust blink open to meet yours. His fingertips skim beneath the hem of your shirt to snake up your back, digging into the soft flesh there to pull you flush and gasping to his chest. A throaty growl spills from his lips as his mouth attaches to the exposed salty skin of your neck.

“Come on!” Lucifer whines. “We’re all buds here, right? Common enemy and what not. Castiel? Have a little mercy on a brother.”

Your fingers seek Cas’ belt buckle, making quick work of the barriers of fabric to free his straining cock. He kneads the rolling curve of your hips, biting into the delicate arc of your collarbone when you grab the base of his cock and twist your wrist in a fluid upward motion. He gasps, growling the Enochian equivalent of the word fuck into your marked skin.

You giggle, his deep voice resounding in the cell and vibrating to your core.

Lucifer pleads to deaf ears, “You want me to get on my knees and beg? I’ll do it. Do anything. Name it!”

Stroking the angel a few more times, you shimmy backward off his lap. You stand between his knees as he continues to palm himself and watch you undress. Unzipping your jeans, you wriggle out of them and kick the denim aside.

Nostrils flaring at the scent of your arousal, Cas lunges, grabbing the hem of your panties to pull you close. Mouth caressing your flesh, he murmurs ancient breathy veneration for your beauty as he kisses a deliberate line downward from your belly button, pausing to nose and mouth the thin stretch of soaking wet fabric shielding your center.

It’s all too much for Lucifer – the sweetness and worshipful adulation of your love – he retreats to the corner of his cell, curling into a ball on the bench and covering his ears with the lumpy stained excuse for a pillow provided therein.

You tangle your fingers in Cas’ hair and yank back, forcing him to look up at you. Normally you want this, want him to take his time, to taste and explore every inch of you with his tongue until your knees are weak and you’re begging to come – but you’re already trembling with excitement and you want him inside you, stretching and filling you with that perfect burn of bliss. You don’t care that you’re both still half-dressed. You’ve had a lot of practice fucking like this on account of your brothers’ stubborn penchant for giving you very little alone time. Fortunately, with his angelic grace, Cas doesn’t need you undressed to make you come and his stoic resolve means your deft fingers can occasionally return the favor in the backseat of the Impala without your brothers suspecting anything.

As the angel stares up at you, you don’t need to say anything for him to know what you need. He sits, urging you to straddle his lap once more. Nudging your panties to one side, a guttural groan rumbles his lungs when he swipes his fingers through your damp folds.

Moaning, you can’t help rocking against the slick digits in anticipation of what’s to come. You reach between your bodies to guide his tip to your entrance as he lifts your thighs. Gazing into your hooded eyes, he slowly lowers your shuddering body until he’s fully seated, your tight walls scorching around his aching cock as he remains inert, waiting for you to move.

Resting your forehead to his, you undulate your hips, nails scraping the nape of his neck.

His unleashed grace tingles, pinching and tweaking your nipples. He captures your mouth in a kiss, stealing your breath as your tongues dance a passionate waltz until you break away, panting and dizzy and then dive in for more. Grabbing fistfuls of your ass when you begin to falter, he thrusts upward, pace escalating mercilessly as he hits every sensitive spot over and over, sending a slithering wisp of grace to coil around and tease your clit until you’re screaming his name in ecstasy for Lucifer and the entirety of Hell itself to hear.

Breath quivering and ragged against your neck, his orgasm quickly follows, the rhythmic pulse of your pussy milking his hot release. He holds your languid figure in a tender embrace, fingertips tracing meandering lines over your body, grace flowing warm to sooth your overstimulated nerves and worn muscles until he softens inside you.

“You done?” Lucifer’s hopeful inquiry rings out into the silence. He dares a tentative glance over his shoulder.

You stir in your angel’s arms, shaking your head no in reply to Lucifer’s query. You nuzzle Cas’ prickly neck with kiss bruised lips.

“No, not nearly,” Cas answers with a grin, again growing hard as you sit up and start to unbutton his shirt. You may be in Hell, but you can think of a lot worse ways to spend the holidays.


End file.
